The Pyre
by bugsfic
Summary: A widow mourns. A mother laments. A warrior rises from the ashes.


_A/N: For aussiegirl41. Because nothing says Happy Birthday like a Deathfic! Hopefully still a fun read. *nervous smile*_

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The candle's flame burns down to nestle in the bowl of wax, glowing red-orange. The heat singes her eyes but she can't drag her gaze from the flickering shape. She's meant to be meditating to find peace and resolution. Instead, her memories churn and buckle like a ride in the old bucket of bolts.

The smell of crushed leaves against her bare skin. The ridiculous snoring of hundreds of Ewoks, slumbering in the trees around them, a gentle but persistent sound in counterbeat to the wind in the branches. Her giggles stilled Han's touch.

"Do you want to wait?"

"No, no," she pleaded breathlessly. Wrapped in her loose hair, he'd settled her back in the creaking branches of their nest. Years later, there's not much definite that she can recall. Whispers but not the words said. A pressure, but not if it was pain or pleasure. She does remember the slickness of his back under her fingers, the tightening of muscle. That solid hardness is what she held for the days afterward. He flew away, the medal that she'd placed around his neck abandoned. She couldn't care. She had a government to rebuild.

Next, the stink of tar pits, deep and swarming. Another planet that the name is nearly lost to her...Mieva...Too pretty for such an ugly place. But a perfect meeting place when having a rendezvous with former Empire engineers.

Lor San Tekka at her side, his gaze ever watchful as they roamed a marketplace, seeking their targets. Both heavily swathed in robes against the relentless heat and gasses. Through her gauze veil, she'd watched a swaggering smuggler pacing around a droid fight pit, putting his money on the rustiest, slowest model. So typical of Han.

She'd turned her back and made her deal, assuring a Death Star could never be built again. Only when she was striding through dark alleys back to their transport did Han truly feel close. It was as though he was at her ear, whispering, "Did you miss me-"

She was yanked into a doorway.

San Tekka whipped out his blaster but Han held Leia in front of him like a shield.

"Call off your dog," he hissed.

"It's all right. I'll meet you back at the shuttle," she promised her guardian.

"Your highness-" San Tekka protested.

An order: "Go."

This time, at least a bed. More confident and sure of her actions as she stripped off his worn jacket and stained shirt. He unwound all her swaddling with growing frustration-the only time she laughed. She couldn't think of anything worth saying and Han made no promises. She'd been angry to start and was furious by the time they fell to the mattress, exhausted and covered in sweat.

She supposed that was the root of Ben's anger. He was created of fury and fire, grew inside her discontent, only saw joy when she looked upon his face for the first time. Had it been too late to save her son, even as he'd taken his first breath?

Luke had hunted down Han and brought him to her. A role was found for her husband; training pilots for the New Republic. His old flight jacket was hung in a closet, replaced by a regulation uniform. For every night making love, there was a quarrel, but it was their son's growing anger that frightened them both. When he was happy, it was the brightest light. Loving, affectionate, funny, querious of the whole galaxy before him. But the darkness had finally blotted all that out...

The years gone, all the regrets woven into a cord tightening around her neck.

The final knot; she'd told Han to bring their son home.

Where is home? Certainly not these bland quarters with blank walls and single cot. Had it been on the dozens of planets where they'd roosted for a few months, a year? She knew Han would say the Falcon. It was their one constant after all. They'd fought in her corridors, made love in the narrow rack, Ben, nestled on Chewbacca's lap, played at co-pilot.

Now there is no Han to bring home. No body to put on a pyre, to make a bright and spark-filled fire, carrying a spirit back to the stars. Only memories to bury deep in her heart and hold down with a pile of stones. Her bowed head heavy, her aching chest becomes tight with hate. Yes, that. With no peace, the darkness cloaks her as the flame gutters, and her anger blooms and brightens the room.

She reaches for the small wooden chest before her, finding the surface warm as touching another body. The lid lifted, the objects put aside; worn half-bald Wookie doll, the first attempts are carving runes in a piece of bark, the teething ring of an Ork tusk and agate beads. The lightsaber, sized for a child, living a shamed existence at the very bottom. Unlit, it's heavy. She brushes the trigger with her thumb and the room is bright again, the lightest blue of a dawn.

With a cracking of joints, she stands. Once activated, the weapon's weight is gone. A flick of her wrist and the sword arcs through the night. Luke insisted that she submit to his training, despite her protests that she would protect freedom in the galaxy as she always had.

 _"You have a gift, Leia. Don't waste it on endless Senate sessions!"_

She'd laughed, imagining lighting up a saber when some aged legislator got on her nerves, but to please her brother, she'd accepted his tutelage. It has been years since she has welded the weapon, but her muscles remember. Another broad cut through the dark and the hum tingles in the air. She swings the blade past her face, briefly blinding her. She still knows where it is. Luke had taught her how her vision was fallible, but her senses would know where the blade was.

 _"Listen to its sound, feel the tension in the air when it was close."_

Another swing of the blade; stopping it just at her neck. Only then does its heat burn. The vibration of its energy throbs with her heart.

A final lazy arc around and the relentless pain will cease. She's felt her husband die. She's felt her son vanish. She's felt the girl's rage and fear.

Instead, she holds the lightsaber straight out before her and focuses on the blue flame. It illuminates and gives shape to the darkness. A shadow bends and folds, becoming a stubborn jaw and deeply groved cheeks.

"If you're expecting some profound philosophy, you're not getting it," grumbles Han.

"I was hoping to get the last word."

"Oh great, Princess," he groans. "Let's spend eternity bickering."

She scolds: "I told you to bring Ben home, not do something foolish."

Through tears, Rey had told Leia what she'd witnessed from high above the catwalk. With more careful prodding from Leia, she'd described what she'd seen in Ben's mind. Greedy for any information, Leia had covered her shock at this girl's powers.

But any hope at Ben's regrets were lost when she'd forced Chewbacca to tell her every word that had passed between father and son. It had taken C3PO's help in translation, but she'd gotten it out of the Wookie. Both old companions were reluctant, but she had been there the first time that Han had died, and she had to be there this time too.

"You know I had to do it, Leia. If there was any hope that our boy was still in that thing, I had to try."

"Now I have neither of you." She brings the saber closer to her face.

"You have Luke."

Han makes it sound so simple. He will always see her brother as that single farmboy who he carried off a dusty planet. She knows better, but she'll play along. "I'll go for him," she says firmly. "We have the map now."

"Send the girl. He'll listen to her."

Affronted, she huffs. "Not to his own sister?"

"He can say no to his sister. He won't say no to Rey."

"Does she know?"

That familiar twist to Han's lips; half humor, half contempt. "No, let Luke tell her. That's his job."

Too many questions but her strength ebbs and Han is fading. Only time for one more thing.

"I love you."

His chuckle is rough. "I know."

She'll never kiss him again. Never inhale his scent of engine oil, Wookie fur and space dust as she rises on her toes to meet his mouth.

When he dims, she strikes out at the encroaching darkness with the lightsaber. The hum is loud and shocking. She swings the saber around again, circling her head. Suddenly exhausted, she eases her thumb from the trigger but the room remains pale blue. Dawn has come.

She replaces Ben's childhood mementos in the wooden chest but clips the lightsaber to her belt. Luke may have had a point. Hefting the chest with a groan, she carries it outside. The courtyard is quiet and still in the early morning with only a few birds as her company. Last night, celebrations had been at a bonfire. There's enough tinder left. She nestles the chest among the branches. She will have her pyre after all.

While the flames consume the chest, she plans Rey's mission. It'll be in the Falcon, with Chewbacca as co-pilot. The droids shall go with the girl as well...

Turning her back on the flames, Leia continues to plan. She will complete Han's quest. He's told her the way.

She closes her eyes. Another place of great darkness-into the belly of a beast. Han resurrected but weak as a baby and fumbling blind. Asking who was there.

 _Someone who loves you._

~ end


End file.
